


Weekend Adventure

by IcyAndTheFrostBites



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: 50s diner, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, LARPing, Plot twist beginning, There are a lot of OCs, diner setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyAndTheFrostBites/pseuds/IcyAndTheFrostBites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was hardly the weekend Hiccup asked for but it turned out great, regardless. Rated T for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weekend Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Author stuff: Hey, all! Most of you have no idea who I am and that’s cool. I stalk over half of you. And I made you brownies. And tea. Sit, have some, and read!
> 
> This was a midnight idea I had that started off completely different from how it began. I originally was going to write something sad and with a character dying. Then it turned out to be… this. Whatever it is. I won’t go into a whole lot of detail because the first scene has some… fun twists that will make you hate me.
> 
> I kind of want to see people’s reactions as they read, so have a tab open for a review and go nuts. You don’t have to, but it’s for poop and giggles. Yes, I just used “poop” instead of “shits.” I have no idea why.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own How to Train Your Dragon. All legal rights lie with DreamWorks Animation and Cressida Cowell.

“Die, you bastard!”

Hiccup glanced up at the rotting tree that had acted as his shelter the past ten minutes while he caught his breath. Standing atop, readying himself to jump and attack, was Grock the… something or other — honestly he didn’t care, the man was his… enemy. Grock’s blue painted face snarled down at him, his broadsword looking quite frightening.

Grock leapt down, whirling around expertly to face Hiccup releasing a malicious growl. 

“Well, little warrior,” Grock said, “are you ready to great death?”

“Not really, no,” Hiccup said, adjusting his shield. He tightened his grip on his axe. He looked rather pathetic in the oversized fur vest and weapons that suited someone with a taller frame.

“There is wit with this one,” a blue-skinned woman said, ducking out from behind a tree. “Let me kill him, Grock the Rock.”

“No, let me.” Hiccup peeked over his shoulder to see a man larger than Grock striding toward them.

“No, he’s mine!” Grock said, waving his sword at both of them. “I found him. He’s my kill.”

“Or you could all _**not** _ kill me,” Hiccup said, instantly regretting the words as they left his mouth. “You could, I don’t know, let me go? That way, I’d be fair game for everyone.”

“I like this plan,” the woman said, her face twisting into a sneer. “Grock, Blazier, I say we give him ten seconds to run as fast as he can. First to reach him gets the kill.”

The two men agreed.

“Ten…” the woman said, starting to count. “Nine… Eight…”

Hiccup didn’t wait around to hear anymore. He dashed around trees, stumbled over rocks and roots and branches, he kept his face forward to seek out team mates who could aid him. Where was Fishlegs?

The woman caught up with him. Her sudden appearance made him trip over his own two legs and land in a heap on the forest floor.

“Boo,” she said, her axe aimed at his throat. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a chance to fight for your life. It’s no fun killing someone who’s defenseless.”

She gestured for him to return to his feet. He did so, legs trembling beneath him.

“What is your name?”

“Hiksti the, uh, the Useless,” he said. He _**really** _ hated that name but, hey, everyone started somewhere right?

“I am River. I hope that it will be a pleasure to kill you. Don’t let me down.”

She charged. He responded by lifting his shield to defend himself, aiming his axe at her legs. She turned out of his sight, behind him, readying to strike once more. Again, he lifted his shield. He pushed her back, smiling when he realized there was some strength behind it. She snarled and swung her axe at his head. He moved to block her again, leaving his lower body exposed — a vital mistake on his part. She withdrew a dagger from its holster on her belt. She got him in the stomach.

_One hit._

He shoved her back with his shield. The pattern continued for a while. He learned to evade her dagger — she was unusually skilful with it. But his luck ran out after the sixth strike. He tripped and landed on his back. She pinned him down, getting his shoulder.

“Nine,” she said, smiling and half singing. “Not much longer…”

She raised her dagger aiming for his heart, a sure kill if there ever was one.

“Stop!”

River jerked her dagger back up and looked to see who had spoken, as did Hiccup. It was a tall man bearing the crest of a chieftain -- the enemy chief of his clan. The blond Mohawk teaming with dyed colors and feathers and bones a frightening sight.

“He’s the Dragonborn for the Berkians.” the chief said.

She looked down at him with terrified, brown eyes. She dropped her dagger and backed away.

“I…” she said, crouching by a tree. “Chief, I… If I had known…”

“He has hidden his crest,” Grock said, frowning.

“Actually, it’s called falling down in the mud and not being able to wash it off,” Hiccup said. He mentally rolled his eyes at the response. Really, his snarky attitude was going to get him killed one of these days.

“Take him prisoner and send a message to Berk. Let their chief know that we have their Dragonborn.”

It didn’t take long for the word to spread. Soon, everyone knew that Hiccup was a prisoner. Both clans arranged to meet in the field closest to the river. The warring chiefs and a selected few warriors, and Hiccup, met in the middle to talk.

“Got your little Dragonborn,” the chief said, smirking. “Nice choice, I must say. I wouldn’t have suspected him if it hadn’t been for the fact that we have a spy in your midst.”

Berk’s chief looked surprised. He looked back at the men behind him, his clan. Only one member shied away from sight.

“I can’t say that I ever suspected,” Berk’s chief said. “Sorry that things went this way Hiksti.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Hiccup said, shrugged as best he could with bound hands behind his back. “They fed me a turkey leg, so I think I’m good.”

Yeah, he was going to die because he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut.

He looked over the people from his clan. Fishlegs was amongst those chosen to accompany their chief. The big-boned blond man made an odd gesture by his leg. Hiccup scrunched up his face in confusion. Fishlegs stuck out his tongue, only slightly, and lulled his head to the side. It was a quick moment, so others would think he was cracking his neck, but Hiccup caught on immediately. His friend wanted to know how many hits he had taken. He kept his hands low, splaying out nine fingers. Fishlegs nodded.

“I don’t think anyone will be winning today,” the blond said. He notched his bow and quickly aimed for Hiccup’s heart. He let the arrow fly and…

Hiccup gasped and stumbled back before falling to his knees. He smiled at his friend and nodded, slowly tipping to one side and simply relaxed on the grass. He held the arrow in place above his heart and closed his eyes. Ten hits. He was dead.

* * *

“Great game!” a dark-haired woman said, stuffing her sleeping bag into the back of her car. Her olive toned skin was still tinged a light blue and her wet hair clung to her neck and shirt. “You going to join us in two weeks, Henry?”

Hiccup shrugged. He honestly didn’t know.

“Depends,” he said, “my dad might need me at home for something.”

“Too bad. Well, it was nice meeting you. It’s always great to have new players. I was totally surprised Mark picked _**you** _ to be the Dragonborn. Plot twist!”

She laughed fearlessly. 

“Ginny, you joining us at Gil’s?” Fishlegs said as he loaded the last of their things into his microbus — a Volkswagen T2, second generation, with the rear seats removed. The thing was a vintage vehicle that had belonged to his parents in the 70s, complete with shag carpeting in the back — replaced shortly after it was received for a finer fiber shag. The exterior needed to be painted again. Fishlegs was thinking of painting it white and yellow after having finally seen _Little Miss Sunshine_. He just had to get the money for it.

“No,” she said, “my family decided to start having weekly family dinners so I’ll be with them for Lord knows how long tonight. Hopefully my aunt won’t be attempting to woo the lamp again. Maybe I can slither my way out next time.” She thumped the top of her car and nodded. “See you boys when I see you!”

Other people bid their farewells to the duo, chatting excitedly about how much fun that weekend’s meet-up had been. A lot of them begged Hiccup to join them again in two weeks.

“It’s an open ended invitation,” Mark said. Mark was the Shaper — the Dungeon Master. He put the whole weekend together for them in between his daytime job — an inner city lawyer at a big named firm. “You don’t always have to come, but it seems like you were a big hit. I’m glad the ‘Dragonborn’ thing went over well with everyone.”

“Your brother still playing Skyrim?” Fishlegs said, chuckling.

“Yeah, sadly.”

“Lame. You should really bring him out here one of these days. Show him how people in the _**real world**_ do things.”

Mark laughed and nodded. The two poked jabs at his brother before they turned their attention back to Hiccup.

“So, did you at least have fun this weekend, Hiccup?” Mark said.

“Huh?” Hiccup said. “Oh, yeah. Lots! I wasn’t expecting it to be so…” He gestured with his hands, hoping that they could display what he meant. They couldn’t. Despite that Mark seemed to understand.

“Overwhelming at first but a release, right? That’s how most of us feel. As a lawyer, this is a relief from the real world, you know? I enjoy planning this craziness out and seeing people have fun with it.”

“Pretty sure that if you ever feel like leaving the law behind, BGS would happily hire you to create new games like Skyrim.” Fishlegs said. “Your brother would think you’re so cool…”

“Tell me about it. Well, best let you kids head over to the hangout. See you boys in a few.”

Fishlegs and Hiccup got in the microbus and laughed. What a weekend it had been! Costumes, fights with foam swords in tights, camp fires and lame songs that had no rhyme or rhythm, hotdogs, bathing in the river — if you could without getting attacked, pranks. Hiccup hadn’t had that much fun in _**ages**_. It was like summer camp all over again — you know, just without the canoes, the grumpy any horny counselors, the water balloon fights, and the abusive cousin who specifically targeted him. If Steve — better known as Snotlout — ever found out about the weekend, who knew what he would do. 

“Ready to go?” Fishlegs said, starting up the microbus. 

“Yeah,” Hiccup said, buckling himself in. He sighed and relaxed into the sun warmed seat. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of faded new car, too strong pine air freshener, dirt, and sweat. He needed a shower but he’d have to wait until he got home. The campgrounds where the LARP — live action role play — group met up had functioning toilets and showers but Hiccup, like the others, hadn’t really used them. They were all focused on keeping the meet up as authentic as possible, hence the bathing in the river.

“Do you really not want to join us in two weeks?”

“Honestly?” He opened his eyes and looked over at his friend, who was taking them out of the campgrounds. “I’d love to come back. This is the most fun I’ve had since graduating. If I can convince my dad to let me be here instead of at those press conferences, that’d be great.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot that he’s trying to run for governor.”

“So my dad can count on your vote?”

“No, I think I’ll go with the other guy. What’s his name? Arvin? Allen? Marvin?”

“Alvin Utböling, and you better be joking.”

“I am, Hiccup,” Fishlegs said, chuckling. “You know I’ll always vote for your dad. He’s a good man with good intentions, and he _**actually** _ listens to people. He’s going to win.”

“How can you be so sure?” Hiccup said, cocking a brow.

“Because I’ve done the mathematical equations. He has a 95% chance of winning the election.”

“What about the other five percent?”

“The majority of that goes to the independent parties with less than 1% going to Utböling.”

“You really know how to make a guy feel better.” Hiccup rolled his eyes and smiled. “Hey, Mark mention a hangout earlier…”

“Yeah,” Fishlegs said, “everyone meets up at this diner down the road. We started going there afterwards because we got hungry this one time and someone mentioned having been there prior. After a few times, it just sort of… became tradition. I think you’ll like it. It’s all retro 50s. There’s an actual jukebox with 45s in it. You could probably get some pics for that art class while you’re there. I don’t think Astrid would mind.”

“Astrid?”

“One of the two waitresses. She’s nice… most of the time.”

Images of a wrinkled, plump woman with bleached blonde hair, smoking a cigarette came to Hiccup’s mind. He could almost smell the tobacco coming off the stereotypical blue uniform and white apron. He wondered if she would be wearing one of those silly paper hats…

It didn’t take them long to reach the diner. It was a greasy spoon kind of place. There were bushes blooming with purple-y-pink flowers that gave off a sickly sweet scent growing in a neat, little row lining the walkway to the door. The sign above the restaurant was just starting to flicker on — “Gil’s Diner,” it read.

“Come on,” Fishlegs said, shutting off the microbus and unbuckling himself. He got out in one swift movement, Hiccup following after him. He made sure to grab his camera from his bags before going in.

They walked inside — which looked very much like the stereotypical 50s diner with a few booths and a long counter with the circular stools, and the floors a black and white checkerboard pattern. The walls were painted white and had different types of vinyls acting as a border around the top. Off on one wall, was the ancient-looking jukebox Fishlegs had mentioned. Most of the booths were filled up with people from the campground — of whom greeted them warmly. 

Fishlegs and Hiccup sat at one of the less filled booths, taking seats next to Mark, and leaving the counter free for local patrons. Almost all of them already had their food and drinks, Mark being the exception. As he sat down, Hiccup spotted a waitress — a woman he automatically thought of when he thought about waitresses in 50s diners like Gil’s Diner. He couldn’t read her name tag, but he knew it must be Astrid.

“Hey, Fishlegs,” a young woman’s voice said. Hiccup heard the voice but didn’t turn to look. She was probably one of the LARPers who knew his friend. “Good to see you again. Who’s your friend?”

Hiccup looked up at that, Had she been one of the LARPers, she would have known him. Perhaps a local patron…? Or not. The girl could actually be a very pretty young woman who happened to work at the diner.

“This is Hiccup,” he heard Fishlegs say as he gaped. She had long, blonde hair that she plaited over one shoulder and big blue eyes set in a round face dotted with spectacular freckles. Even though she wore a uniform — pink, not blue like he had thought — she didn’t look like she belonged there. 

“Hiccup,” Fishlegs said, snapping his friend out of his reverie, “this is Astrid.”

“Uh, hi, Astrid,” Hiccups said, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Hi, Astrid, hi, Astrid, hi…”

She held back a laugh — he could tell — but shook his hand. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “Do you need menus?”

“No,” Fishlegs said, “Hiccup and I will have the usual.”

She nodded, jotting down whatever the ‘usual’ was, and headed off to the kitchen. She gave the slip of paper to one of the cooks, who said something and made her laugh.

“So, that’s Astrid,” Hiccup said.

“Yep,” one of the other LARPers said — the Glock guy… Andrew or something like that. “Ursula is that little lovely slip of a woman over there.” He nodded to the waitress Hiccup had first seen — the one he presumed to be Astrid. “And Silvia is…”

“On maternity leave,” another LARPer said. “She mentioned it the last time we were here. I mean, her stomach was the size of a beached whale…”

Astrid brought over two very clean looking glasses of water. She set them down in front of Hiccup and Fishlegs, adding a napkin wrapped set of silverware, and an extra bottle of ketchup to the table. She was about to say something when one of the patrons at the counter called her over.

“Astrid’s new,” Mark said. “She started working here a few months ago. Really brightens up the place, I think.”

“Can’t believe that she doesn’t wear any makeup,” one of the female LARPers at their table said under her breath. “I’d _**kill** _ to have skin like that.”

It didn’t take long for Mark, Fishlegs, and Hiccup’s food and drinks to arrive. All three were given larger burgers with lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles with a heaping portion of fries. There were little containers with mayonnaise, mustard, and horseradish spread. All three were also given milkshakes — Mark a vanilla and chocolate for the other two.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Astrid said. “So I took a chance with chocolate.”

“Chocolate’s fine,” Hiccup said, dipping one of his fries in and digging out a healthy scoop of the velvety ice cream beverage. He offered a smile as he bit off the fry. She returned it and went back to checking on the other patrons. 

As they polished off their plates, the other LARPers paid their bills and said their farewells — many demanding that Hiccup join them again, repeating what they had said maybe an hour before. Mark soon, too, followed the others until it was only Fishlegs and Hiccup left from their large group. Neither was ready to go home just yet, even though the streetlamps were on and the sun was barely staining the sky with its orangey glow.

Hiccup managed to get a few pictures for his portfolio. He had decided to minor in art — no real specific field at the time he applied — and his final project was a portfolio of the different forms of art, photography was one portion. He got several of the scarce patrons lined up at the counter and a family at the booths, Ursula pouring coffee into someone’s cup, the albums on the walls, and the outside all aglow in the twilight.

He and Fishlegs were ready to go, only staying to use the men’s room before they left. As Hiccup waited on his friend at the counter, he and Astrid talked.

“So,” she said, “you do the LARP thing.”

“First weekend, actually,” he said, shyly looking up at her through his bangs. She didn’t look snide or anything of the sort, like he’d expected. She was curious.

“What’s it like?”

“LARPing?”

“Yeah.”

“Kind of like camping, only everyone’s in costumes and has fake weapons that they wave around like idiots.” The both laughed. “It’s fun.”

“I’d like to try it out sometime. I always see these guys come in and talk about it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Most of them have been doing it for years, so I’ve always been kind of afraid to ask if I could join — you know, new kid at school kind of thing.”

“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Fishlegs said, approaching them as he wiped his hands on his pants.

“Yeah,” Hiccup said. He got up to follow his friend out to the microbus but he stopped. He turned back to Astrid. “The next meet-up is in two weeks at the campground. It starts at three in the afternoon. You’re welcome to come.”

She smiled and nodded, watching him leave.

As Hiccup buckled up, he could feel his friend’s eyes on him.

“What?” he said.

“You going to join us again?” Fishlegs said.

Hiccup thought about it for a minute, looking at the diner though the window.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Author stuff cont’d.: Well, that’s that. Not what some people were expecting, was it? This was started on 11 March 2014 at 2.25 AM and finished 29 April 2014 at 2.22 AM (CST). No, it didn’t take me that long to write. I just forgot about it and didn’t finish it as I had planned. I don’t remember my original ending but it was very similar in my mind — Astrid asking about LARP, Hiccup inviting her, Fishlegs asking if Hiccup will join them again, and Hiccup agreeing. The last line is the same, I know that. But, uh, yeah. It was a fun little thing that crossed my mind.
> 
> I won’t be continuing this, in case anyone is wondering. This is a oneshot and a oneshot only. If someone would like to pick up the idea, by all means go right ahead. I give you my full blessing. Just let me know, okay? And give me credit for inspiring you or some shit like that. I was never able to form any sort of tangible plot for a full length story, but there were some ideas — Astrid LARPing as a badass, Stoick not liking LARP (finds it weird, creates tension between him and Hiccup), Hiccup is stalked by photographer working for Alvin and it’s revealed what he does, Toothless is… an animal of some sort (or a little kid who NEVER talks, that’d be different)… And that’s all I have. 
> 
> …You don’t have to use them. Most of them came to me while I was typing them up, in all honesty. Except Toothless being a little kid. That one was originally going to be incorporated somehow…
> 
> Fun fact: When I took German in high school, my class name was Silvia (later changed to Ursula when we got a different teacher — the first one slapped a student, fun story from what I know) and I had a friend who went by Astrid in class. Our teacher constantly mixed us up (both short, dark hair, sitting next to one another, in choir).
> 
> ANYWAY, I hope you all enjoyed this. I hope it amused you for some time. Also, congrats to anyone who found a book reference in the fic (not an HTTYD book ref, just to be clear). If you didn’t, well, don’t think too hard on it. It was obvious but it wasn’t. 
> 
> …I don’t know what else to say…
> 
> Blargh.
> 
> Signing off,   
> icy


End file.
